A Quote by Robert Sheehan

I can sing, but I don't know how pleasing it is to the ear, you know. — © Robert Sheehan
I can sing, but I don't know how pleasing it is to the ear, you know.
I used to sing when I was younger. I left it alone for a long time, 'cause I was like, I don't even know if I know how to sing for real.
I don't know what happened. I just exploded. I'd never sung like that before. I used to stand still and sing simple, but you can't sing like that in front of a rock band. You have to sing loud and move wild with all that in back of you. Now, I don't know how to perform any other way.
I mean these people who work on Broadway, in my opinion, are the most gifted of everyone. I mean they really know how to dance. They really know how to act. They really know how to sing. They know how to perform.
I knew how to sing in choirs and sing in church, but I didn't know how to sing in a studio. That's what Darlene and the Blossoms taught me to do - to be a studio singer.
Trust me, people that know me know I ain't perfect, but I do try to live my life in a way that hopefully can be pleasing to my maker because I know I'm going to meet Him one day, and He's not going to pat me on the back and talk about how many wins I had or how many Coach of the Year trophies we got or how much money I made.
I always wanted to sing. I didn't know how to do it. I didn't know how to make the singing thing happen.
I don't really sing... I just hear notes so I know what it's supposed to sound like, if that makes sense. You ever hear someone try to teach a choir how to sing, but they can't sing? That's me.
somebody/ anybody sing a black girl's song bring her out to know herself to know you but sing her rhythms carin/ struggle/ hard times sing her song of life she's been dead so long closed in silence so long she doesn't know the sound of her own voice her infinite beauty she's half-notes scattered without rhythm/ no tune sing her sighs sing the song of her possibilities sing a righteous gospel let her be born let her be born & handled warmly.
I was in New York doing musicals in the theater and on Broadway before 'Orange,' so people always ask, 'Are you ever going to get to sing? Does she even sing?' But people who know me know I actually do sing.
Even if you don't sing on your tracks, if you know how to sing, it'll probably help you out.
When the fat lady comes out to sing, we don't know how she feels that day. We don't know if she's suffering from a cold or is mourning a death or falling in love. We don't know. But so all of that chance is the performance.
I don't know what happens when people die Can't seem to grasp it as hard as I try It's like a song I can hear playing right in my ear That I can't sing I can't help listening
I didn't know why I couldn't sing - all I knew was that it was muscular or mechanical. Then, when I was diagnosed with Parkinson's, I was finally given the reason. I now understand that no one can sing with Parkinson's disease. No matter how hard you try. And in my case, I can't sing a note.
Because, in opera, I have to sing for people that are very far from me, instead of, when I sing a song, I try to imagine to sing like in an ear of a child.
I know I can sing; I can sing, and I like how I sound.
Young people who are just starting out somehow need to let you know they know how to sing.
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